


jump

by kurooos



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Iwaizumi Hajime is a Good Boyfriend, Iwaizumi is a SOFT BOY, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 16:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17491004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurooos/pseuds/kurooos
Summary: “Jump,” Iwaizumi’s voice comes to him sweet and gentle behind his ear. Oikawa jumps.His knee smarts but it’s drowned out at the burn of his hand connecting with the volleyball. It soars over the net. The gym is empty but the ref whistle blows briskly signaling his point when he lands.“Jump,” comes again, more hurried, pressured. Oikawa grits his teeth and jumps.





	jump

**Author's Note:**

> i needed some hurt comfort with my babies. sorry oikawa youre so hard on yourself so this was easy to write. ;0;

“Jump,” Iwaizumi’s voice comes to him sweet and gentle behind his ear. Oikawa jumps. 

His knee smarts but it’s drowned out at the burn of his hand connecting with the volleyball. It soars over the net. The gym is empty but the ref whistle blows briskly signaling his point as he lands. 

“Jump,” comes again, more hurried, pressured. Oikawa grits his teeth and jumps. Sets the ball and it goes over. Another whistle. 

“Higher.” Oikawa jumps. Another whistle. 

“I said  _ jump higher _ .” This time, when Oikawa’s feet come off the floor, he shouts. The ball connects with his hand painfully and his breath catches. 

He lands wrong. It doesn’t send him crumbling but Oikawa lands and sharp needles prickle up the bone. There’s no time to wait. The ball is in his hands again and Iwaizumi is standing to his side. 

“Jump again. Do it right this time. Why can’t you fucking do this right?” 

The words sting. Especially coming from his Iwa-chan, someone who makes him feel better about his shortcomings. Pressure behind his eyes, Oikawa sets up the ball, steps once, twice,  _ jumps _ . 

The ball goes over the net faster this time. There are faceless cheers coming from the empty bleachers above them. The ball slams into the court over the net with a hard whack and the whistle is shrill. 

“Again.” He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to jump again. It hurts. His feet leave the floor. The ball slams into the opposite court. The whistle blows. 

“Yes.  _ Again _ .” 

“I can’t-” he finally speaks up. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead, the back of his neck, between his shoulder blades and getting caught up in his jersey. His knee is throbbing. 

“Jump again, Oikawa.” comes at him in a growl and Oikawa growls back when he springs up. 

The skin on his hand and wrist is flushed pink, raw from the times he’s hit the ball. It throbs when he lands. A knife edge peels away the muscle from bone in his knee. 

“Again.” 

No.  _ No _ . He wants to scream and cry and sit down, but his legs don’t listen. He jumps again and this time when he lands he almost buckles. His landing is far from graceful. Oikawa cries out but the sound is lost in the cheering around him and the shrill blow from the whistle. 

Oikawa can’t breathe. But more so he can’t move. His feet are cemented to the ground and he can’t even take a step back. His lungs burn as bright as his knee does. 

Tears are tracking down his cheeks now, hot as sweat and hidden in the sheen of it. His calves are trembling and it’s a miracle he’s still standing. He can’t put weight on his right leg. 

The ball is coming back down at him and even though he’s not told he has to jump, he knows he must. His body goes to rock into the motion, to start, but the tension never releases and his feet lock up. He doesn’t jump. 

The ball falls on their court, right next to Oikawa who is standing stock still. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?! Jump!” 

Oikawa whimpers and tries to do as he’s told but his muscles are locked up and his knee is gone. 

“Jump!!” roars over the crowd.

Oikawa sobs as he drops to the floor. His chest hurts, his whole body hurts. He’s burning, flames licking at his knee and spreading out of control. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe-

His hands pull on his hair, covering his ears when he pushes his forehead into the court. Tears drip to the flooring, shining in the lights back up in his face. 

I can’t. I can’t jump anymore. It hurts. Please, don’t make me anymore. Please make it stop. 

“Oikawa!” 

He sobs again, shakes his head and curls up tighter. I can’t. Please.  _ Please, I can’t _ . Rough hands grab him by the shoulders and it hurts. Not as bad as it could be, 

“ _ Tooru _ -” Iwaizumi’s voice cuts over his panting and sobbing. The hard, unforgiving pain of the court is replaced with a soft mattress. The lights are softer, gone away and replaced by the streetlight outside leaking in the open blinds. 

It’s such a relief. It’s so overwhelmingly good he sobs again. He’s in Iwa-chan’s arms, held tightly but gentle. No fists, no harsh words. 

His fingers cling against Iwa-chan’s t-shirt like it’s his only tether to Earth. He’s so dizzy and he still can’t catch his breath. 

Suddenly he can’t breathe for real this time. But it’s soft, gentle. The hot, wet press of Iwa-chan’s tongue stealing what little air he managed to claw into his chest with panic. The noise he makes is pathetic. 

He can finally feel his bottom lip when Iwa-chan nips at it, he can feel his chest when Iwa-chan touches his palm to the center of it. It sparks nerves as it traces down to his side, resting on his hip. Oikawa aches for his hands and fingers on every inch of his skin but he can’t find his voice. 

It’s lost in hiccups and warbling whimpers of “Iwa-chan”. 

His cheeks bloom with warmth, tucked in cozy with Iwa-chan’s hands. 

“I’m right here. It wasn’t real.” he whispers. Iwa-chan’s voice is always the best thing when they first wake up. Huskier than it’s usual low timbre but still knee meltingly smooth. 

Oikawa’s fingers move to Iwa-chan’s stomach, slipping around to his back so he can trace the ridges of his spine. The tremors are slowly ebbing away with every kiss Iwaizumi presses to his cheeks, his brow, the bridge of his nose. 

“You’re okay, Oikawa.” he whispers against his mouth between their kiss and Oikawa believes him. He’s okay because that Iwa-chan in his dreams wasn’t real. His Iwa-chan would never force him and break him like that. 

The reality of his consciousness is bringing with it the burning throbbing of his bad knee and Iwa-chan must notice his grimace. His fingers fall soft against his knee and press lightly. Oikawa watches him rub circles, the tan golden skin a few shades darker than his own. Pretty. They go together.

“It was about you…” he mumbles, almost ashamed to admit it to Iwaizumi. 

Would Iwa-chan think differently about him knowing that he was having nightmares about him? Would he lose trust? Oikawa had nothing to fear, had no right to be scared of Iwa-chan. The boy was nothing but good to him. 

But when he meets soft brown eyes there’s nothing but open curiosity. No hatred, no judgement. Just a little thread of worry between his brows. 

“You kept telling me to serve,” comes out on a more hushed whisper, “It was scary. You didn’t see that it was hurting.” 

Instead of trying to tell him otherwise, or say that he’d never do that, Iwa-chan says, “you can say no to me.” 

“I tried-” Oikawa hiccups as a sob breaks, “I tried, Iwa-chan, I couldn’t speak- I couldn’t open-” 

“Shh. Shh, it’s okay. It wasn’t real. We’re right here. You’re speaking now,” Iwa-chan’s fingers come up to his lips, thumb pushing at his chapped lip. 

He looks soft and warm in the pale moonlight. He looks like the stars that Oikawa has longed to touch, the ones that are just bright enough to be seen, silver rounds that are far from reach. Iwaizumi’s head tips as his eyes lower a little, watching the smudge of Oikawa’s lip he makes before following it with his own lips. Just to keep him placated. 

“You’re speaking, and I’m not telling you to do anything but breathe.” 

How did he get so lucky? Oikawa has no idea how the fates decided to bless him with Iwa-chan. Most people see them as an unusual pair. Iwa-chan the brute and Oikawa the clingy annoyance. But Iwa-chan is soft on him and spoils Oikawa rotten. In turn Oikawa takes care of Iwaizumi in every aspect. 

They’ve had many a night just like this. Someone up with a nightmare and the other there to hold him through the come down. Oikawa thinks Iwa-chan has a better talent for it, though. 

They sway softly just like that. More touches and kisses than talking. Eventually the pain in his knee settles down and his chest has loosened up. The deep breaths feel good, and Iwaizumi’s scent makes it better. Oikawa’s coconut shampoo and some cologne-like body wash. It’s home. It’s his entire heart. 

“I’m better now, Iwa-chan. Thank you.” He’s so tired even though he’s gone to bed at a good time. He idly glances at the clock to see that it’s thirty minutes before their alarm would go off. 

“We gotta talk about this more later but right now let’s get up and start breakfast.” Iwaizumi makes sure it’s open enough, that Oikawa could choose if he wanted to come or not. 

Of course the taller boy takes his hand when he stands out of bed. Iwaizumi makes sure to give Oikawa one more kiss that lingers. It’s always been the best way to calm him down. Sweet words that bare the honest truth help, but there’s nothing better than his affection. It makes Oikawa pliant and happy. They walk downstairs with their fingers locked together. 

Oikawa’s usually chirpy and bouncy in the mornings, at least once he’s gotten out of bed. Iwaizumi thinks there’s no one grumpier than an Oikawa that has just woken up and yet to open his eyes. But their silence when they get into the kitchen is  _ loud _ . 

Oikawa leans against the counter, out of the way, and staring at the bottom edge of the fridge in front of him. He looks like he might nod off to sleep again, but Iwaizumi knows what to look for. He knows that far off stare. Oikawa’s spiralling thoughts are easy to stop if he catches them early. 

Iwaizumi puts down the coffee creamer and steps in front of Oikawa. It takes the other a second to meet his eyes. He tries to cover up his mental wandering with a sleepy smile. He’s pretty, sleep mussed hair and dark eyes are a sweet temptation. Good think Iwaizumi has had over 18 years to get used to it. 

“Stop thinking about it, shittykawa.” He doesn’t need to talk quietly. This is this home, there isn’t anyone else they have to be conscious about. But the mood calls for hushed tones. Even the nickname doesn’t come as harsh as usual. 

“So easy for you to say! I can’t help it.” Oikawa gripes. A good sign if he’s bickering back in a whiny tone like that. 

“You could be watching something else except the floor,” Iwaizumi grabs Oikawa’s chin, making sure that he gets full attention. “I know you. Stop thinking about it. It’s easy for you.” 

Oikawa’s eyes search him openly. There’s adoration and a million other gross sappy things in his brown eyes. But all he says through a pout is, “So mean, Iwa-chan.” 

“Mmh. I sure am.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes as he leans up to get another kiss. Oikawa finally bends down to meet him. He’s smiling into it, a genuine one. None of that fake shit he puts on for pretty fangirls. 

“Omelettes or toast and bacon?” he asks when they pull away.

“Omelettes are always the better choice.” Oikawa opens the fridge after he side steps Iwaizumi. He leans into the arm that gets looped around his waist, not letting it stop him from grabbing the carton of eggs. The kiss at the top of his shoulder doesn’t stop him either. 

He’s thankful for the affection because it makes him feel wanted and needed and real. It’s better than any other comfort someone could give him. The distraction from his nightmare works and he doesn’t have the time to even think about it aside from the throb in his knee because of the colder weather outside. 

They stay close as they prepare breakfast and the sun rises. They watch the birds outside the kitchen window while sipping coffee. Iwaizumi’s black with three spoons of milk and sugar and Oikawa’s balanced with half coffee, half creamer and milk and two scoops of sugar. Their hips and shoulders are the only point of contact they have but it’s grounding. 

Oikawa watches the clouds get pink and sherbert orange while Iwaizumi watches the ants at the grass. The smell of their finished omelettes pull them away from the morning. 

It’s another normal, perfect day. They don’t have practice, they don’t have anything volleyball to get up to, no groceries to buy, no appointments to get to, no job interviews, no train commutes. 

Not a single point in the day does Iwaizumi bring up his nightmare, and it serves to let him forget about it. He can’t linger on the thoughts when he has more important things to do, like give Iwa-chan all the reasons they can’t rewatch Pacific Rim for the hundredth time. 


End file.
